“Bessie, Bessie, where is Bessie? If I can only live till she comes!”
“Of course you will. What nonsense Cartwright’s going to bring her back with him.”
“It’s all up with me, old man,” he gasped, “I know. But we ‘ve come out much better than I expected, and—and—if I don’t see—Bessie—you must tell her—it was worth it. Poor little Bessie, she said—she loved me—it was only a passing fancy—I hope—I think—”
His eyes closed wearily, and Bright touched Mrs. Warner’s shoulder.
“Put a pillow under his head,” he said, “and—oh, here’s Miss Bessie.”
No one asked how she had come so soon—only her stepmother silently resigned her place to her. Hollis seemed just conscious of her presence, but he was almost past speech, and they watched him silently. The doctor came, and shook his head.
“A very short time now,” he said. Ten o’clock, eleven o’clock; the moon had risen over the hills, the midsummer moon, and all the garden was bathed in the white light. They had opened the windows and drawn up the blinds to give him more air, but it was very near now—very near indeed—only a matter of minutes. The clock on the mantelshelf struck midnight, and he opened his eyes. He could see through the open door right away down the gully, just as he had seen that afternoon.
“How lovely it is,” he said.’ “Bessie, kiss me, Bessie. I—was that twelve o’clock? It is Christmas Day then. I wish you many happy Christmases, Bessie. Darling—don’t you grieve—it was worth it. Good-bye.”